


Collector of the Odd

by EyesOfEnigma



Category: The Kneebone Boy - Ellen Potter
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Humor, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:05:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8179180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyesOfEnigma/pseuds/EyesOfEnigma
Summary: Four years after the Hardscrabble children's adventure by the sea, life in Little Tunks has returned to a dull routine.  With the beginning of Otto's last year in high school comes a new addition to the class, but she's not like everyone else.  She's strange, just like them, but in a completely different way.  Always fascinated by the odd, Otto attempts to form a friendship with the new student, dragging her into the family trio.  While Otto and Max are willing to accept her quickly, Lucia finds it difficult to trust someone who might end up like everyone else . . . and this strange girl is fearing the same.





	1. Be Careful: The Specimen Bites

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome. 
> 
> Welcome to what? you might ask.
> 
> To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. Story number one? The Adventures of EyesOfEnigma, part I? Who knows. The point is, here it is. 
> 
> This fanfic has been buzzing in my skull like Christmas time is to Jack Skellington every since a few years ago. It’s based very heavily on (and thus I give due credit to) Ellen Potter’s The Kneebone Boy. I fell in love with this deliciously strange and quirky novel ever since I opened its three-hundred-some pages, and so . . . yeah. Fanfic. Whoohoo. I highly suggest reading it before you read this, otherwise you’ll kind of have no idea what’s going on and/or the characters will seem a bit out of place. But whatever . . . it’s a free country. I assume.
> 
> Okay, sorry to bore you, but as a writer, I don’t like having strong female leads in my novels to have defined love interests. It kind of bugs me how cliché it is, but hey, that’s just my opinion. Regardless, I tend to let my hair down on this little fact when I write short stories, poems, or fanfics, so I’m going to try to start strong with one I’ve been nursing for a while. 
> 
> The rating is like a preteen+ for occasional teenage swearing in the future. Just trying to be realistic.
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Please leave constructive criticism.
> 
> Love and stuff,  
> EyesOfEnigma.
> 
> P.S.,  
> After reviewing this many months later, I will likely rewrite it. Sorry for the cringe.

Collector of the Odd  
Chapter I

The classroom smelled like drying paint. Drying paint and old gum. It was almost as if the paint was trying to conceal the shameless and offensive gum under the desks by overpowering them, and failing sorely. Things had not changed at the Little Tunks High School. It was hopeless to think that things would ever change anywhere in Little Tunks. Even the faint tickle of peppermint would carry on the breeze long after the gum factory town was gone.

A blond at the front row stared at the brick wall to his right, trying to ignore the chattering teenagers that surrounded him. He thought the world would change after that week by the sea. In the moment his universe flipped upside-down, but it didn’t take long for him to realize that it still looked the same. He didn’t change. On the outside, most would say that he had gotten a fair bit taller, older, and his features more defined, but he still had that head of pale, shaggy, and unkempt mass of hair that somehow was still reasonably presentable in public. Though it could hide the one of his pale blue eyes, it couldn’t hide how he was still the noodle-limbed boy from four years ago.

Wordless.

Friendless.

He hoped with all of him that the new teacher wouldn’t call on him. This middle-aged woman, preparing her first English lecture, eyes buzzing with business and nervous with the trifle of being impressive, would have been informed of the blond’s selective mutism by the other teachers, but there was always a chance that she would try to get him to speak. He planned for this. It was simple to make a person feel so awkward and cover up their mistake. 

Why couldn’t his sister be his twin? He wondered how she was holding up in her first class of the younger year. And his brother two years behind that. They were likely both being ignored, and in return, ignoring the world. 

The blond tilted his head back slightly, shut his eyes, and tried to pull his brain out of his dark-turtleneck-and-jean-clad body. Pretending that the old peppermint gum odour was the real herb, he created a vivid mental painting of the slender, strawberry-haired, beautifully freckled woman he knew as his mother. He wished with all his being that he was visiting her, with his siblings and father, in the hospital. For an antique castle by the sea, it wasn’t a half-bad hospital. He could get lost in her brilliant grin, the graceful movement of her hands – even the strange things she did and said were becoming endearing and refreshingly child-like, all while keeping the powerful maturity of an adult.

The rumbling words in the classroom were replaced with fleeting murmurs, causing the secluded teenager to look up quickly. He thought that the teacher made a move for silence, but she didn’t appear to have changed from just a few minutes before. He followed the quiet gazes of the other students.

He blinked. 

Something new.

Someone new.

There was nothing spectacular in this young woman’s stature, nor her looks or build. She was remarkably average in all these aspects. Her height was no more than two inches below the blond’s own, her eyes were large, expressive, untouched and clean. A sharp nose, a small mouth, no freckles, no glasses. She was not athletic nor unhealthy, and she dressed simply in sneakers, jeans, a loose sweater, and a beanie hat. She would have slipped into class almost completely unnoticed if it weren’t for the blaringly obvious.

Her skin was deathly white; her hair, wavy and cropped just below the ears, the same lack of hue. Her eyes were a dull, dark red that could be mistaken for brown at a distance, though there was a challenging sharpness to them that could not be contested. She glanced around the room, entirely comfortable and unflappable with all the eyes on her, and silently strode to the seat two to the left of the blond, and empty desk between them. Her gait was as smooth as a floating ghost.

After settling in and grabbing a notepad and pen, the new student scribbled something quickly. The blond watched quietly, unmoving and fascinated. A collector of the odd and strange, he knew precisely what sort of person she was, and had always wanted to witness someone like her. He flinched slightly when she rolled her eyes at the audible comments around the class. Clearly becoming thoroughly annoyed, she turned in her seat and shot a scalding glare, her voice even and strong.

“You can stare for today, but expect no good graces from me tomorrow.”

Establishing a sense of fear in the room, she smirked, and continued as if nothing happened.

The teacher saw this as a good opportunity to assume control. Standing in her purple pinstripe business suit, the blond could immediately tell what sort of teacher she was going to be. Her cold stern gaze said it all, and he internally groaned. 

Miss Quinn was her name, and judging by her picky standards (which she made known very quickly), she had been trained for this job in a serious way, but she hadn’t been trained for handling students like these. She wasn’t a Little Tunks native. She didn’t think like them yet. It would be a rough year for her.

“Before we start,” Quinn announced after her lengthy summary of expectations, “for my benefit, we’ll go up and down the rows: say your name, what you hope to study post-secondary, and a random interesting fact about you. Hobbies, interests, anything. Starting here.”

She had, of course, pointed to the blond. He glanced up, dreading the moments to inevitably follow. She waited patiently for him to speak, but was only met with the rippling laughter of the class. She whipped her head around, confused and angered.

“He doesn’t talk, Miss,” a freckled girl said nasally.

It seemed to suddenly come back to the new teacher. “Oh, right. Hardscrabble, was it? Otto. Yes, I heard about this. My apologies.” She motioned for the next person to continue. 

Otto sank slightly in his seat, getting comfortable with staring at the wall. And so it begins, he thought, tucking his chin into the collar of his turtleneck. He wished he still had his scarf, but his mother had it. It was right where it was supposed to be, but it didn’t mean that he missed the reassuring warmth it gave him.

The uninteresting sounds droned on until, at last, the unfamiliar voice chilled the curious room. “My name is Isabelle Housman. I want to study graphic design,” she projected clearly. “And,” she hesitated, almost second guessing what she was going to say. Otto never looked away, and he felt his chest hurt with empathy. I know what it’s like to be different, he wanted her to know. “I’m an albino, if that wasn’t obvious enough.” Her voice thickened with resentment as she finished, retreating into her comforting disdain.

The word “albino” left Otto’s ears in a buzz. A genetic condition leaving the individual unable to produce melanin, the essence of colour in the human body. Pale skin, white hair, inability to tan, and in most cases, poor eyesight and light sensitivity. Other health problems were not uncommon. She didn’t wear glasses, but he guessed contacts. Unless she had surgery when she was young. Or maybe her eyesight wasn’t bad at all. The mystery she held around her was almost thrilling.

How could his questions be answered? Otto would barely be able to approach her with such strange probing, let alone actually strike up a conversation. He sighed internally, eying the wall with bitter disappointment. 

The first English lecture was hardly anything to sneeze at. The basics, with the occasional ridiculous question to make sure everyone was paying attention. Every 30 seconds or so, Otto’s pale sky eyes would flicker towards the snowflake of a girl with intrigue. Only once did their gazes meet, and in a startled reflex, he shot his stare away, later wishing he had kept it there to see what she would do. He was unsure if she had noticed his odd interest or it was just a coincidence, but he thoroughly favoured the latter.

The bell rang, and footfalls followed obediently.

As students collected papers and excused themselves from class, Isabelle lifted out of her seat slowly, turned on her heel, and marched herself right over to Otto’s desk. Bewildered from the small catnap he had managed at the end of the period, he looked up towards her with dread and anticipation. She laid a slender-fingered hand on his notepad, her skin almost paler than the paper and her eyes boiling blood.

“Never stare at me during class again,” she muttered at him, her tone as if she was talking about the weather, but her searing gaze concealing no ounce of fury.

Mindless, Otto nodded quickly and vigorously to make her leave. She did so, after blinking heavy white lashes in disapproval, in her wake a boy slowly disappearing into his sweater.


	2. Defending Max

Collector of the Odd  
Chapter II

As the youngest of the Hardscrabble children, Max was not only one excluded for being strange, but also for being little. His growth spurt was at least a year away, and he wasn’t exactly making up for that in strength. No one bothered Otto or Lucia (Loo-CHEE-a) because they were either too scared to pick on Otto or too worried about getting in trouble if they picked on a girl. Max had no such good fortune. 

Lunch hour, of course, was the worst time of all. No lessons and no teachers; a time when the frustration and boredom of students ran amuck. The Hardscrabbles gave up on sitting in the cafeteria, and the halls were much more quiet anyway. One could actually hear themselves think. While his siblings left him to venture into the cafeteria on the dangerous mission of warming up their food, Max picked at his own small container of last night’s dinner. Sighing long and loud, he ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. He and Lucia shared this feature, though due to the length of hers it posed much more of a nuisance. 

Max wished they had more in common that just hair colour. Lucia was one of the smartest in her class. Straight A’s since the beginning of high school. Even Otto managed consistently decent grades, though he barely payed attention. Max just couldn’t focus. His thoughts would wander endlessly until he was sure his body would follow his brain right out of his seat and through the ceiling. Yet he could never forget the furrowed thick eyebrows of his disappointed father every year after exams.

Max flinched when quickened footsteps proceeded ripples of laughter around the corner of lockers. He sat perfectly still, his lungs clenched with fear. Had Otto signed something funny to Lucia as they returned, or was this the enemy?

Well, it was one of the enemies. And his girlfriend. Fantastic, Max thought. Maybe if I just eat here, they won’t notice.

As if.

This enemy was the kind that smoked too much for someone so young, had a scar or two from skateboarding, and never wore his trousers right. Max tried his best to ignore their weird snogging until he was noticed.

No words were exchanged. As they passed, one swift kick and Max’s rice and chicken went flying across the dirty hall floor. Max didn’t even make a sound, but he did wince at the pain that would leave a nasty bruise on his arm. The burst of noise left him somewhat overwhelmed, and he was stilled until they were almost all the way down the hall. The enemy’s girlfriend smirked, seeming pleased with the demonstration of her lover’s schoolyard dominance.

The click of sharp shoes in front of the couple made Max flick his eyes up, his mind still processing what happened. What he saw he thought for a moment was an angel descended to save him. That was ridiculous, of course, it was just a girl in fourth year. He had seen people like her in the books of strange things Otto owned. She was an albino, and she looked none too pleased about what had just occurred.

Getting right up into the enemy’s face, she grabbed the collar of his hoodie in a threatening way, her eyes looking like what Max imagined to be the fire of hell. The girlfriend yelped quietly and took a few steps back, but the enemy seemed only calm and amused.

“Apologize,” the albino hissed at him.

The enemy simply casually swore at her, and in response she tightened her grip on him.

“Piss off and let him go,” the girlfriend whined at her.

“Shut it, sweetie,” the albino ordered, brushing her off quickly.

The enemy wrapped his hand around her thin wrist roughly. Max was afraid he would break it. Instead, she let go of his sweater very slowly, never looking away from him. As she turned, appearing to be walking away from the scene, she glanced at Max and gave him a wink only he could see.

The enemy relaxed, which was his big mistake. He barely even heard the albino mutter softly to herself.

“An eye for an eye, a dick for an arm.”

Max barely witnessed the blur that was her leg as she promptly and effortlessly pivoted and swung. There were loud groans, the shriek of a girl, and then they were gone.

Utterly confused and petrified, Max sat frozen on the hall floor for a good thirty seconds, not entirely sure what had just transpired around him. He knew he got kicked, and then a pale person kicked that guy . . .

“Max!” Lucia shouted as she ran towards him. She had just come around the corner with her steaming food seconds after the commotion ended, Otto on her heels. Max lifted his head up and captured her image, but it wasn’t until she was almost close enough to smother him with a million questions that he responded.

“Relax, I’m fine,” he said complacently as he began to rise and stumbled slightly.

Otto glanced up and down the corridor as if to check for any further crime, noticing that only Max’s defender was present. “Did she hurt you?” he signed urgently.

Max shook his head. “She drove that idiot away from me. Thanks, by the way,” he added with a glance in her direction.

The albino was standing off to the side the entire time, leaning happily against the lockers like it was just another day. “You’re very welcome. Hope you don’t mind a girl helping you out.”

“At least it wasn’t Lucia,” Max replied with a smile.

“I beg your pardon!” Lucia retorted, her nostrils flaring like they always did when she was cross or bossy. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Her name is Isabelle,” Otto said before Isabelle could open her mouth. “She’s in my English class.”

“Oh yeah, mister googly-eyes. That’s not European sign language, is it?” she asked, pointing at his hands.

“We made it up when he stopped talking,” Max explained.

“Excuse me,” Lucia butted in. “Otto and I made it up. You learned it later. Don’t plagiarize.”

“I had a deaf friend when I was growing up in London. I know a fair bit of sign language, so I could probably pick that up quickly,” Isabelle interrupted. She locked eyes with Otto. “Want to teach me? I’ll let you stare at me, since you seem to like that.”

Otto shrunk into his sweater and nervously looked away.

Lucia shook her head. “We barely even know you. Now you want lessons?”

Isabelle raised her hands up in defense. “Hey, it was just a request. I like to know what people are saying when I talk to them. Communication is a two-way street, sweetie.”

“Who said you would be talking to us anyway?” Lucia returned quickly.

Isabelle stiffened, letting an angry silence distill between them. “Sorry, didn’t know you guys enjoy being alone.”

She left before anyone could protest, a white mist in the wind.

Max shot a glare at his sister. “Oh, great job. Now we’ll never have friends. Ever. That was a great chance.”

Lucia snorted. “As if. Wait a week and she’ll be just like the rest. Trust me. I just did us a favour.”

Otto turned only his head towards her and signed very slowly, careful with each fluid motion. “You don’t always know what’s best, Lucia.”

She opened her mouth wide to fling out another response, but shut it right after. The look her brothers were giving her was enough to keep her quiet, wondering now more than ever if she had done the right thing for them. Finally, she rolled her eyes, though not accepting defeat.

“Fine. Let’s just get through the day, shall we? And let’s clean up this mess before the teachers get up our arses about it.”

§ § §

No matter how many angry steps she took, Isabelle could still feel the clutching pain in her mind and body. A dull itch wriggling in her core. She thought she could get rid of it, have a fresh start, but there it was again, the dragon head rearing up to face her. Her short clean curls bounced in front of her face as they loosened from behind her ears, reminding her of how she was to others. A lab rat. A ghost girl. She even actively avoided mirrors, wanting to forget what she looked like.

What she was.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she repeated. People are stupid, school is stupid, life is stupid. The staring eyes, the whispers, the conversations down the hall. She wanted it to die, she wanted to burn it all.

Isabelle halted and almost collapsed against a set of lockers, sending a clatter of metal down the empty corridor. It’s not that bad, she told herself. You can do this; you don’t need them. You’re tough. Don’t show them weakness, or they’ll prey on you. She rubbed the outside of her arms faster and faster, finally launching herself off again. 

I’m never going to do this again, she decided. Seventeen years is enough of a chance. Marching forwards with new determination, Isabelle hardened her thoughts and continued to repeat that motivation. She barely noticed the person trying to catch up with her.

A tap on the shoulder.

A turn.

A sticky note with scribbled pen in long slender fingers.

“I’ll teach you, if you still want.”


	3. Lucia's Suspicion

Collector of the Odd  
Chapter III

Lucia’s dark-lashed brown eyes flickered over the bounds of her books, past Max’s large head, and across to the two figures in the kitchen. She didn’t want this stranger coming to the house when it was in such a state. Their father’s canvases and rags, some splattered with paint, were scattered all throughout the house after being erupted from his studio. Normally he kept everything in the attic, but since finding a patron, he needed to sell a lot of what he had hoarded of the years. Some of Lucia’s favourites were already gone. He had told them how his new patron was a very picky older rich woman, and would only allow certain things for her paintings.

Isabelle had the gall to stick her nose in his business, saying that she was interested to see a local artist’s style. Something about how she wanted to do graphic design. Ridiculous, Lucia thought. Now this white-haired girl was celebrating her invasion of their privacy with a glass of milk and a cookie Otto offered her.

It had been almost a week since he agreed to teach her, but she had never come to the house before. They weren’t talking, just signing at each other. Isabelle decided that it would be the best way to practice signing at the same time as learning to read it. Lucia flared her nostrils out. The child in her felt like her brother was slipping away, but the mature young woman silenced that voice. Otto can do whatever he wants. He’ll see what I meant soon enough. He always did have to learn things the hard way.

They were talking about Isabelle’s family. She signed very slowly compared to Otto, but her determination was commendable. Occasionally she would have to ask about what the sign was for an obscure word, but overall she was fluid and accurate. Otto watched her carefully, correcting a few finger movements in a gentle and concerned way. Lucia noticed the strange look on his face that she had only seen once or twice before. It was almost like an awed child, slack with utter interest, but there was a loss of self in it as well. It was almost as if he couldn’t care less if he died right there; he’d be so content. 

Isabelle’s personality had leveled out in the past few days. She had spent every lunch with the three siblings, and Lucia realized how her distant and almost bitter disposition became calm and confident. She was tempted to compare it to the undisturbed surface of water: still sensitive to vibration, but very cool and collected. 

If Lucia was honest with herself, she was very keen on Isabelle, but she still could not shake the feeling that something would go terribly wrong from this blooming friendship with her older brother.

“My parents are quite wealthy. My father is a businessman, and my mother is a popular interior designer and blogger,” Isabelle told Otto. She glanced at Lucia, meaning that the explanation was for her as well. “When I was thirteen, the doctor highly recommended that I move out from London for my health, and from then I lived with my aunt in the countryside. She got married just this past summer, so I decided to give the happy couple some space while I finished high school. Little Tunks is a great town for fresh air and a reasonable amount of activity. I don’t have a car, of course, so I can’t exactly be too far from school anymore.”

Isabelle’s snowy curls danced around her face when Lucia piped up, “How do you get money? Do you have a job?” 

The girl’s response was frank. “Monthly allowance from my parents,” she said aloud. Then, with a quizzical expression, she turned to Otto. “What’s your word for ‘allowance’?”

He showed her slowly and exaggerated. She copied with even more care, and several times to make sure she for the hang of it. Then she smiled wide, and Lucia was surprised to see Otto’s own curve of mouth.

“You must be this Isabelle I’ve been hearing about,” came a deep tone from around the hall. It was, to no startle of the siblings, Mr Hardscrabble, who promptly leaned himself against the fridge, speckled paint apron and all. “How long do you think this one will last, Lucia?”

Isabelle glanced between father and daughter with cautious intrigue. Lucia laid her book on the table and smirked. “Take another look, Dad,” she said.

“We told you she’s not like the others,” Max added, still munching on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

Mr Hardscrabble sauntered over to their house guest, a considerable height difference between them, and stared her down as if trying to test her. “Who said you could have cookies?” he whispered to her menacingly.

Lucia’s eyebrows rose when Isabelle didn’t falter as she expected. Instead, it was as if the young woman didn’t hear what he had said at all.

Taking another bite from her cookie, she spoke with one cheek full. “I did,” she replied.

The father chuckled low to himself. “I wish my patron was half as interesting as you. For both having white hair, I’d say you’re the prettier one by far. Don’t you agree, Otto?” He put a hand on the teenager’s shoulder encouragingly, and Otto looked away, slightly flushed. “Call me Casper,” he told Isabelle, and she nodded at the elder man in polite agreement.

Turning to leave the kitchen, the dark-haired man cast his gaze across to his daughter, his features darkening with fatigue. “Lucia, could you please make dinner again tonight?”

Lucia’s eyebrows met with concern and compassion. “Of course, Dad.”

Casper disappeared, leaving a confused Isabelle and pensive children. After a few long moments of thought, Max locked eyes with his sister.

“He misses Mum,” he muttered before finishing off the last bit of his sandwich. 

Lucia glared at him and launched out of her seat. “We all do, Max.” Pushing into the kitchen, she slowed before reaching into the lower cupboard. “And that job doesn’t help.”

“We need the money,” Otto said sadly. 

She ignored him. “Max, I need you to peel potatoes.”

The younger boy made a noise of disgust. “I did it last time; make Otto do it.”

Otto began to sign in protest, but Lucia talked over him in a huff. “Max, I thought we agreed! Otto prepares vegetables, I prepare meat, and you do potatoes or rice. Not to mention I basically do all the actual cooking involving heat!”

Max turned in his seat to project loudly, “Yeah, but I – “

“Oh, shut up, all of you!” Isabelle cried. She plucked the peeling knife from Lucia’s hands and rooted into the brown paper bag of potatoes. “I’ll peel! Max, if you don’t do what your sister says from now on, your skin is next. That goes for you, too!” She pointed the sharp object at Otto and he gulped.

Isabelle’s outburst was enough to get them all moving at Lucia’s command, and after a few tense minutes, the four began chatting pleasantly again (though Otto could do little of that with his hands full). Around the corner down the hall was Casper, at first sorting through old canvases, but he had stopped to listen and couldn’t help but grin. 

§ § §

“Otto,” Max called from the dining room table to the living room, “Chester wants in.” 

The skinny blond whipped over to the back patio door a few paces from the table while Max resumed his homework. Sliding the glass over, he stooped down and let the cool autumn night air in.

“Who’s Chester?” Isabelle asked, helping Lucia with the dishes as part of earning a free dinner. When Otto straightened with a green-eyed black cat cradled in his arms, her query was answered. “Is that a third hind leg?”

“Makes him limp, poor fellow,” Lucia told her. Isabelle threw her drying towel over her shoulder and approached the boy-and-feline duo, stretching out a hand a bit towards the new creature. Otto stood perfectly still, observing in his way as the bond was formed. He supposed Isabelle was a cat person, because she didn’t try to pet Chester right away, overwhelming him. Instead, she waited for the dark cat to come to her, dark red eyes never wavering from his.

Chester stretched his head out a bit to touch his nose with the tip of Isabelle’s middle finger, white whiskers twitching with curiosity. He quickly became fond of her tickling his ears, and she exchanged smiles with Otto. He even showed her the eight-toed forepaw.

“You’re a little mutant, just like me, huh?” Isabelle said. She glanced up once at the cat’s owner, her white lashes flashing in contrast to Chester’s fur. “You seem to have an interest in odd things.”

Max snickered. “He’s bloody obsessed. You should see his collection upstairs.”

Otto blushed intensely at that comment, causing Isabelle to giggle melodically and give him an awkward expression of compassion. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind. I told you: since you’re teaching me how to talk your way, you can stare at me as much as you want.”

“Speaking of which,” Otto said after he put Chester up on his shoulders, “we should fit another lesson in before you leave.”

So that’s what they did for the next hour. Isabelle and Otto in the living room, Max and Lucia in the dining room. It was silent for the most part; the only disturbance was Max asking for help on his math problems and Isabelle asking for help with what sign went with what.

When it was finally time for the guest to leave, Lucia saw her out.

“Thank you for dinner,” Isabelle said cheerfully as she slid into her light jacket. “I think I’m finally getting the hang of Otto’s signing.”

“You’re very welcome,” Lucia replied, doing her best to be pleasant. 

Isabelle made a movement like shrugging her shoulders and locked Lucia in a somewhat uncomfortable gaze. “I know when a person doesn’t like me,” she said bluntly, making Lucia blink in surprise. “So tell me what’s wrong, and maybe we can solve the problem.”

Lucia didn’t reply, nor did she move, nor did her nostrils flare out like they normally would. She simply looked at her feet for a few seconds, then back at Isabelle.

“I know what it’s like to be different,” Isabelle told her softly. “I know what it’s like to fear getting close to people. You finally think you have a friend, then bam, they’re gone. Giving you those glances at lunch time just like everyone else. You know. That look.”

When Lucia still didn’t make a sound, Isabelle took in a deep breath and sighed. “I’m going out on a limb here myself, and so far, it’s working out. So, please, give me the same chance. Trust is hard, but it really helps in the end. My aunt taught me that.” She smirked. “I’m going to be your friend, whether you like it or not.”

Isabelle left for home, in her wake a girl most confused.


	4. Talents Discovered

Collector of the Odd  
Chapter IV

Silent fingers brushed the smooth and dry autumn air, wrists dancing gracefully between steady, focused gazes. The shadows of leaves undulated across the two strange people seated in the grass cross-legged and facing each other so close that their knees touched. The weather had taken a chilling turn, so both were fully bundled in jackets and long jeans.

Otto loved the way Isabelle’s wispy snow curls hugged her face from under her beanie hat. She always had a mischievous half-grin whenever she spoke to him, a reflection of her relaxed disposition. The cranberry scarf around her neck brought out the dull red hue in her eyes, as if she was actively opposing their concealment from society. Otto especially liked the one embroidered cardinal bird on one of the ends just above the seam.

“You never told me about your mum,” Isabelle signed to him spontaneously. Seeing his now pensive expression, she added, “You don’t have to . . .”

He shook his head. “No, it’s alright.”

Isabelle folded her hands and waited for the explanation patiently, her face slack with understanding and curiosity. She was surprised he was alright with exposing this somewhat forbidden topic considering they had only been friends for two months.

Otto pulled his mouth to the side in a strange way. “Promise me you won’t stop being my friend.”

Isabelle frowned. “I shouldn’t have to promise you anything,” she said quickly, her hands working furiously. “You know I won’t do that.”

He nodded and let out a bit of air, his hands inching upwards as he thought of how to begin. “Mum disappeared just before I stopped talking. Dad found her and realized she had a type of mental illness, but he didn’t tell us where she was. We sort of accidentally figured it out four years ago, and as it turns out, she’s at a private hospital on the coast, where she can be herself.”

Isabelle didn’t even blink. “So she’s strange, just like us.”

“She thinks she’s royalty,” Otto replied, “but she’s still Mum. She still loves us and she’s still wonderful. We visit her every summer and Christmas.”

“What makes you think that I would stop being your friend after that?” Isabelle asked him. “That’s nothing horrible. I’m sure she’s a fantastic person.”

Otto shrugged. “Because everyone else would turn and run.”

She gave him a look. “Please . . .”

He grinned for a split second. “Fair enough.”

“Anything you want to ask me, now that we’re out in the open?” Isabelle inquired.

Otto thought about this for a time, the distant cries of playing children in the park still audible even at their displacement. “You don’t like your parents much, do you?” he signed slowly, adjusting his seating as if he was uncomfortable asking.

Isabelle shook her head. “They’re pompous and stuffy. I don’t like them, but I do love them. I only see them at Christmas, usually.”

Chester mewled in triumph when he interrupted them, the prize of a robin at his feet. Otto reluctantly praised him, clearly not overly keen of his cat destroying other life, but he allowed it. 

Isabelle would have smiled, but she was already absorbed with something else. Digging through her school bag, she extracted a thin notepad and a black pen, flipping to the fifth page. Otto stared wide-eyed as she began to draw out something that only took up a fraction of the page, completely captivated as she was with her illustration.

Eventually he could no longer bear the suspense and he leaned forward ever so inconspicuously to peek over the edge.

“Oh, sorry,” Isabelle exclaimed aloud, flattening the pad so he could see it upside-down. He couldn’t help but place a few fingers on the page, soaking in the beautiful design she was etching out. It was the image of a cat curled to attack a swallow, and in turn the swallow held out its beak in offense to its feline counterpart. The two formed a crude circle, the styled outlines and simple fluid shapes making a piece of art Otto could rest his eyes on endlessly. With it were several other finished and incomplete sketches and small snippets of other drawings, some in great detail and others only basic outlines.

“This is . . . amazing,” he told her.

She shrugged and tried not to smile. “I consider myself a professional doodler. Why do you think I want to do graphic design? It takes the people who pay attention to small things that make art so rich, as my aunt says.”

Otto nodded in agreement, still running his eyes over every single one. “Do you have more?”

“Sure,” Isabelle replied, filling in the cat’s eyes carefully, “years worth of material. Sometimes I go back through it all and pick out the best ideas to update them.” She laughed darkly and raised her eyebrows. “Some of them were pretty bad.”

“You should make a bigger piece with all of these in it. Like a scene from a play, or a mural. You could find a building wall and ask the owner if you can paint it. Leave your mark on the town,” Otto yammered.

Isabelle looked up at him in surprise. She dropped her pen to interrupt him silently. “Woah, slow down! I don’t even know if the whole town wants to be looking at it for decades or more. Plus, I have to get all those materials and find something to protect it from weathering or dulling. Not to mention it would take months!”

He looked disappointed. “Perhaps you’re right. Sorry.”

Isabelle watched as he began to pick at the grass, tucking his chin into his sweater and even ignoring Chester’s attempts to cheer him up by rubbing his back against the boy’s side. She shrank a little and grabbed his hand. For the first moment he studied her fingers, then dipped his head up to look at her. She did her best to give him the sweetest smile. 

“I think that’s a brilliant idea.”

§ § §

Max was concerned about Lucia. Lately she hadn’t been making any snarky comments about Isabelle. She had always been kind to their new friend ever since the first night she stayed for dinner, only to say the occasional jab at her when she wasn’t around. Otto was consistently around to defend against it, but now nothing came out of Lucia’s mouth that had to do with the albino girl.

In her spare time, his sister would normally read or draw, but instead she was just staring at the wall, or at the ceiling while upside-down on her bed. One day she was almost as silent as Otto, and even he was fairly chatty with his signing. Max confronted her that night after he was sure Otto had fallen asleep but he knew Lucia hadn’t. Crossing the hall to her room, he could hear their dad in his studio with no indication of him coming down to rest.

Max didn’t want to risk the sound of a knock disturbing anyone. “Lucia,” he hissed lowly. She sighed in annoyance, and he took that as an invitation. She was, of course, perfectly awake and staring at her room’s ceiling.

“What?” she demanded venomously.

Max closed the door behind him, folding up the sleeves of the pajamas that were a bit too big for him. “I was worried about you. You’ve been acting strangely,” he replied.

Lucia blinked at him and sat up in her bed. “I feel fine.”

Max rolled his eyes and moved to sit across from her. “Lying to me doesn’t work. Tell me.”

Lucia’s nostrils flared out as he expected. “Why should I?”

He was steady with her. “Because it will help.”

She scrunched up the covers towards herself, thinking for a few moments. “She told me she wouldn’t stop till she became my friend. At first I let it happen, and she is my friend, I think. She’s one for all of us. But then . . . I started to think about Otto.”

Max nodded and cast his eyes to the floor. “You noticed it, too?”

“When she leaves after they graduate,” Lucia began.

“It’ll crush him,” Max finished for her. “We’ll all be sad, but him especially. Life will go back to the way it was before. Not to mention he won’t know what to do. He’ll never get hired here and he never said anything about going to a college.”

Lucia brought her legs up to her chest and rested her face in her knees. “Why does growing up have to be so stupid?”

“Isabelle is going for graphic design, right?” Max asked, clearly brainstorming. Lucia looked up at him, her chin resting on her knees now, and nodded.

“She told me last week that she was already accepted to her first-choice college. It’s a little place, not part of a big city so she won’t risk her health.”

“Maybe he’ll go with her,” Max said, hopeful.

Lucia frowned. “He’ll be so far away!”

“He’d still love us, Lucia; he won’t die,” Max returned quickly. “And he’d be happier than he would ever be here.”

She shook her head. “Isn’t it weird how you can want the best and the worst for someone at the same time?”

“I’ll miss him too,” Max agreed, “but we have to grow up as well.”

Lucia didn’t reply, lying back down and tucking herself in. She laid on her side, holding her face away from her brother, and waited a while for him to leave. Growing up is a pain, she thought. Why can’t everything go back to the way it was? Simple, when everyone was with her. When everyone loved her and each other.

Max let out a puff of air and lifted off her bed. “Goodnight, Lucia.”

§ § §

“We should wait until after winter,” Max concluded.

Isabelle was across from him at the dining room table, bobbing her head slowly in agreement and thought. “That way it has a lot of time to cure and solidify before it gets dumped on by snow and salt.”

“Did you even find anyone who is willing to give you a wall?” Lucia added, her eyes alight with interest.

Otto shook his head. “No, but I wrote a letter to the county councillor and she agreed that Little Tunks should have more attractions that could become art history.”

His brother and sister looked shocked. “You did that, Otto?” Max cried.

He shrugged. “Yeah. She even said that I write very eloquently.” He flushed a bit. “Anyway, the letter is good to have on hand if someone has a problem with it.”

“Should we get dad involved?” Lucia suggested.

Max quickly disqualified that idea. “We should surprise him. Besides, he’s got his hands full with that woman wanting paintings of all her prize riding horses.”

“I have some money saved from summer jobs,” Isabelle continued. “I made sure to set aside some for school next year, and what I have left over should be enough for the supplies.”

A silence settled between the four of them, some blank of brain, others full of thought.

“So . . . now what?” Lucia inquired. 

Otto and Isabelle glanced at each other once.

“Now I have to design it,” Isabelle returned, seeming overwhelmed. “But it’s not just my art. It’s your project too. When I come up with drafts, you can all give me advice or suggestions to make it better, until we’re all satisfied.”

Lucia leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms with a smirk. “I like this plan. So, do you have a draft?”

Isabelle shifted uncomfortably. “I have some outlines at home, but --” 

“Then what are we waiting for?” Max exclaimed, pushing out of his chair.

Isabelle blinked wildly, but followed through. “Alright,” she affirmed, standing up and leading the way to the front door.

After some anti-climactic assembling and fastening of coats and jackets to oppose the late October air, Otto made a disappointed and irritated click of his mouth. He pulled a box off the top shelf in the foyer closet, sifting through gloves and hats.

“What’s wrong?” Isabelle asked.

Max answered for his brother. “He doesn’t have any clean turtleneck sweaters right now, so he has to find a scarf to wear. But we only own three, and dad has one. You’re not going to find anything in there, Otto.”

The eldest Hardscrabble straightened and tugged at the bottom edge of his coat. “I’ll just deal with it,” he said.

“Maybe you can get Chester to sit on your shoulders to keep your neck warm,” Lucia suggested.

“No good. He’s out hunting, I think,” Otto returned.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Isabelle huffed, unwinding her own cranberry scarf and stepping towards him. Lucia and Max exchanged wide-eyed expressions as she entwined the long piece of warmth around him with care. “There, you look sharp. Don’t lose it, okay? It was a present from my aunt. I’m leaving you in charge of it.”

“But you’ll get cold,” Otto pressed, already settling into the new neck accessory.

Isabelle grinned and pulled over her hood from under her coat, leading the way out the door.


	5. Part of the Collection

Collector of the Odd  
Chapter V  
The train ride to the small town known as Snoring by the Sea was filled to excess with calm silence and beautiful frosted landscapes. The longer the travel, the thicker the layer of snow and the fluffier the flakes. Isabelle amused herself with the notion that she matched the scenery perfectly, but for the first time in years, she didn’t mind one bit.

Across from her was Otto, scribbling something down in a notebook and checking Chester in his cat carrier above them every ten minutes. She smirked at how concerned and flustered he was with journeying for just a day. Lucia and Max were absorbed with their books and Casper was dead to the world in a nap.

Isabelle pulled out the letter that her mother sent her. She could never understand why she always sent letters instead of emails, but she remembered something about how it was “more personal”. It was a fairly long piece, detailing how much they missed her and how they hoped she was making friends and doing well in school. It also explained why no one would be at their London home for Christmas. Huge events for the holidays called them away, leaving her to be alone with only the land lady to cook a warm meal for her. Even her aunt was away to some warm place in the Mediterranean. 

That’s when the Hardscrabbles stepped in. She tried to conceal it from them, but she wasn’t about to lie. Otto was the first to offer that she come along to visit their mum. Casper was hesitant at first, but he gave in when all three children insisted that they not abandon their friend. 

Staring at the elegant writing of her mother’s for one last moment, Isabelle tucked her letter away in her pocket and continued to endlessly stare at the disappearing familiarity. When her thought carried her soul away, Otto glanced up with eyes a paler blue than ever with the reflection of the outside snow. He watched carefully, his gaze flickering over her ghostly and lace-like features until getting her attention with a hand movement. 

“Are you alright?”

Isabelle blinked heavily and turned her head towards him as if she was climbing back down to reality. “I think so,” she replied silently.

Otto pulled a face. “Tell me what’s bothering you.” He absent-mindedly ran his fingers over the seam of her cranberry scarf, which he hadn’t taken off since it was given.

Isabelle cast her gaze out the window again as she answered, “I’m not quite sure. I know I should be happy. You all have given me so much, and asking me to come with you now is more than I ever expected, but,” her hands paused midair, “I feel empty. Like something is eating away at me, trying to tell me that things are really going to change, and I don’t want that.” She looked at him in full and with vibrancy. “I don’t want to lose you guys.”

Otto considered what she had said, closing his notebook and placing it out of the way. “Change is part of life, I’ve heard it said,” he returned. “But I can tell you in confidence that no matter how much we may change, we won’t change where we are, and that’s right by you.”

Isabelle thought about Lucia and Max reading books beside them. She never wavered her eyes away from the face across from her, soaking in the image of the boy she met in first period English. When he said “we”, he didn’t mean his siblings and himself. He meant “I”. Just himself.

Her hands seemed to move on their own. “I am here,” she said, her eyes conveying all the meaning to him. 

He nodded. “I am here.”

She returned to her window, and he to his writing, and she could’ve sworn she felt her anxiety melt away as the reality sunk in. 

What I need is here.

§ § §

This was the first time in a long while that Isabelle felt very uncomfortable. She never thought she would be out of place in an environment like this. So far she had met a man with a pet mouse, a girl from a jungle, an American who spoke very much and far too fast, and woman who believed she was a sultan. Oh, and a doctor, but he wasn’t very strange. Though she was briefly introduced to everyone, she had very little time to speak with any of them save for the sultan.

Otto was determined to have Isabelle meet his mother properly. It wasn’t until late morning when Casper, Lucia, and Max were assisting with preparing lunch for the few residents of the hospital. The Sultan of Juwi insisted that at least one of her advisers stay with her for some important reason, so they thought it best that Otto stay. Isabelle seemed to be an afterthought, though she was glad she wasn’t spending the holiday by herself. 

Isabelle and Otto sat together in the large stone windowsill of the main common room. They were signing the occasional thing to each other, but they kept it at a minimum in order not to disturb Mrs Hardscrabble, who was peacefully humming to herself while reading a book. It was the first moment of calm, so Isabelle could actually have a good look at this strange woman. She was slender and pale like Otto, with clusters of freckles and somewhat unkempt strawberry-blonde hair pulled back with a loose elastic. She never wore any shoes, besides going out in the snow, which she did only once a day in the winter. Dressed in a white robe with matching trousers only down to the knees, a black scarf with silver stitched-in oak leaves was tied smartly around her waist.

Their eyes met, making Isabelle’s stomach feel like water. The green and blue gems watched her with critical and intelligent interest, and Isabelle wondered if the older woman was having a moment of lucidity. The sultan shut her book with a graceful snap.

“Where do you come from, dear girl?” came the smooth tone, making Otto look up from his writing attentively.

Isabelle glanced at him once as a silent cry of confusion. “L-London?” she responded, not entirely sure what the question meant.

“Funny,” said the sultan, smiling naturally. “I would have thought you came from some hidden place of eternal winter. If you had been passing by in Juwi during my reign, I would have made you a court official. They would have come for miles to see you. Second-best to my peacock, of course.”

Isabelle felt a twinge of annoyance in her chest. “Sultan,” she said calmly, although some heat was rising to her face, “I am not something to be put on display.” Her eyes betrayed an ounce of insecurity as she said it.

The royal leaned back in her chair. “No, that is true, but I do not believe in hiding beauty from the world.”

Isabelle flushed at the misunderstanding and the compliment. “Thank you,” she muttered, casting her eyes on the floor in shame. 

“You’re very welcome,” the sultan replied with a grin, her smile reminding Isabelle of Lucia. “My mute friend, what are you so interested in?”

Otto flipped his head up to her again, and after slight hesitation, stood up to hand over his notepad with a respectful bow. The sultan’s eyes skimmed over the page fluidly as she read it over. Her face slowly became more serious and intense the closer she made it to the bottom, finally handing it back. When Otto reached out to retrieve it, she didn’t let go.

“You are a poet, my dear,” she told him lovingly. He grinned at her approval, and Isabelle couldn’t help but feel happy for his apparent joy.

The shuffle of large slippers proceeded Haddie, the slightly overwhelming and spunky great-aunt of the Hardscrabbles. She was only in her thirties, a fact Isabelle had a hard time wrapping her mind around, despite it being explained to her plainly.

“Hey kids. Behaving yourselves? Sultan, you’ll have to keep an eye on these two. Make sure they don’t get into trouble.” Haddie bared her teeth wide and slid onto the sofa across from them, a dramatic movement crossing her legs. “Isabelle, right?”

The girl nodded in response. 

“So, are you Otto’s girlfriend or something?” she asked, seeming sincere.

Otto made a strange noise like a sharp intake of air, shaking his head at her wildly. Isabelle smiled with embarrassment and Haddie giggled at both their reactions.

“I’m just kidding, of course,” she admitted. “Being an albino must be tough. Bad eyesight, huh?”

Isabelle nodded. “I was lucky to get surgery when I was little, and I’m not as sensitive to light as others.” 

“Anything else?” the American asked.

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

The sultan got up and left the room, something besides the conversation obviously on her mind. Everyone’s eyes followed her. 

“She’s probably hungry. I’ll go,” Haddie told them, leaving the two teenagers alone.

For a few heart beats after Haddie’s slipper-footed shuffles could no longer be heard, Otto and Isabelle stared at each other in the deep sill.

“What did she mean?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “Maybe if there’s any other health issues you struggle with. Albinos are known to have other defects as a result of their condition.” He paused, analyzing her pensive expression. “Don’t mean to pry, but do you?”

She blinked once, her lashes blending in with the snow outside the window, wispy curls dancing as she shook her head. 

§ § §

Otto couldn’t understand how someone could be deathly tired and still not be able to sleep in a wonderfully comfortable bed. It was two nights from Christmas, the castle was quiet, peaceful, and was perfectly warm, yet he could not drift into dreams no matter how long he left his eyes closed. Max could always sleep so easily, lucky bugger.

The library was the most comfortable place for a mind in need of distraction. Maybe there would be a book in there that would either put him to sleep or inspire him to write some more. Regardless, the small of old paper and the soft yellow lamps were soothing enough.

Pushing is way in, he made a direct path for the shelf on the right wall. He nearly dropped the first text he pulled off when he heard the voice behind him.

“It’s rude to sneak up on people,” Isabelle told him. She had been sitting on the sofa at the opposite end of the room far before he arrived, bundled under a fleece blanket and still in her blue snowflake pajamas. 

“Sorry,” Otto said, his fingers becoming colder as he signed. Isabelle smiled at him weakly, dark imprints under her eyes, and stood, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. 

“I’m guessing you couldn’t sleep either.”

He shook his head.

She walked over to get closer, shrugging her shoulders in a small way that made him feel oddly sad. “Nightmare,” she told him, her eyes seeming to search for something in him. 

For a few seconds, they didn’t move and Isabelle didn’t speak. 

Finally, she sighed at him. “I broke your trust.”

He looked at her quizzically. “In the dream?” he asked.

“No,” she said, making a face like she wished she had been more specific. “I lied to you. That’s really what has been keeping me awake. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“The fact that you’re telling me the truth now is enough to know that our trust is still intact,” he replied without hesitation. “Tell me what it is.”

Chester mewled precisely when Isabelle opened her mouth, clearly just arriving from trailing behind Otto out of bed. Isabelle laughed quietly and lifted the black bundle off the floor, making him very pleased with the attention. He found his way onto her shoulders and licked her with his sandpaper tongue fondly.

“You asked me if I had health problems,” she continued. “Well, I do. I didn’t want to tell any of you because I didn’t want to be pampered or worried over or treated any differently.”

He nodded. “I understand. I won’t tell anyone else unless you want me to.”

“Thanks,” she returned, letting out a breath. Wordlessly she pulled at her collar and unbuttoned her shirt twice down. Otto flinched at the fast movement, unsure of what she was doing. She tugged at the fabric over the left side of her collarbone, exposing only enough so he could see the twisted white scar just off-centre of her upper chest. He studied the mark, then looked at her for an explanation. 

“I was born with a weak heart,” she began. “When I was thirteen, I had a minor cardiac arrest and was installed with a pacemaker. When I get older, you’ll be able to see it under my skin. I lived with my aunt to recover away from London. My parents got so used to my absence that the ‘encouraged’ me to learn how to live on my own.” She let her arms go slack to her sides. “You’re not he only one with a fractured family and a sob story.”

“It’s what you do with a broken life that matters,” Otto replied, obviously still thinking about what had just been revealed to him. 

Isabelle smirked. “You sound like my aunt,” she sighed wistfully. “I don’t think my life is as broken as it was four years ago. I have mended myself a bit, but it was mostly other that did that.”

Chester leaped down to the floor and curled around Otto’s legs, tail twitching happily. Otto hadn’t taken his eyes off her scar, and he wasn’t even startled at the cat’s movements. Isabelle studied his gaze, finally grabbing his hand and pulling it up to only an inch from the surface of her skin. 

“The doctors told me that this thing is keeping me alive,” she told him intensely. “One more heart attack, and I’ll likely be dead. Go ahead,” she challenged him. “Prove to me that you’re not scared.”

His licked his lips and began to oblige, at first running his eyes slowly over the edges of the small device between her skin and her ribs. Fascinated and feeling mysteriously sad, he finally ignored it and flicked his fingers up her neck to get her attention. She gave him and expression of confusion.

“I’m not proving anything,” he told her. “You know I’m not scared.” His hands lingered in the air as he finished. 

“I don’t understand,” Isabelle whispered. 

“You think because I get so distracted by odd things and mutant life that I can’t see the person underneath the pale skin and red eyes?” he asked her. “Chester is my cat because he wants to be, and because I wanted that too. You are my friend because you wanted to be, and as did I.”

“So, what you’re saying is,” Isabelle concluded as she mentally worked it out, “you don’t give a damn that I’m albino or that I have an electric machine making sure my heart works?”

“Basically,” he returned.

She stared at him for a long while. They interchanged blinks for a few heartbeats, and Otto was too scared to disturb her thoughts by saying anything. Finally, she opened her mouth, letting out a ragged breath. 

“I think I can sleep now,” she murmured. “You have no idea –”

“Yes I do,” he interrupted, mustering up his courage to hug her before she could protest. She just as quickly returned the gesture, barely remembering the last time she received a warm embrace. 

§ § §

Misty clouds of breath hovered around the faces of two suspicious teenagers lingering by the front wall of an antique shop. The girl was measuring the dimensions with the assistance of the boy while the middle-aged owner watched them from the front step of her store. The old windows of her business ended to make way for quite a few metres of boring brick, the subject of offensive graffiti for some years. 

“Thank you so much for allowing us to do this,” Isabelle thanked her again, and Otto simply nodded his agreement.

“If it’ll stop vandalism and attract more customers, anything, dear,” the owner replied with a concerned glance. In her hands she had a copy of the letter Otto received and a draft of Isabelle’s mural. “I’ll leave you to it. You said you’ll start when the snow melts, hm?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Isabelle returned, rubbing her gloved hands together. “We’ll need to put up a runoff for rain. Is that alright? Supplies are on me.”

The older woman nodded, turning into her store with a toss of her dark brown hair.

Isabelle recorded the last dimension and made a few notes as Otto rolled up their measuring tape. Satisfied with their research, Isabelle offered for him to come back to her boarding house and have some hot chocolate to get warm. Instead of rounding the corner to the sidewalk, they took the short cut path she had discovered through the alleys and suburban paths.

“Have you chosen a college to go to? Deadlines come quickly you know,” Isabelle said with her hands.

“Yes, I have,” Otto returned, his hands fidgeting when he finished his sentence, as if he was nervous. Isabelle shook the concern from her mind.

“For what?”

“English. I want to be a writer. Mum gave me the idea, actually,” he admitted, clearly embarrassed.

“That’s fantastic! Where did you apply?” she continued cheerfully.

Otto halted. She turned to face him and made a few backwards paces before standing still. “There’s no use in avoiding it,” he signed with a physical sigh. He could barely meet her eyes. “I applied to your school.”

Isabelle blinked at him, white and heavy. “My school?” she repeated in near disbelief. “Oh.”

He pulled his mouth to the side. “Are you disappointed?”

“No!” she exclaimed quickly, lowering her voice in surprise at her outburst. “It was just unexpected. I never thought that you’d want to follow me there.”

“It’s a good school. I think I’ll fit in there,” he explained. Gathering a breath, he locked his gaze with hers. “I fit in with you.”

“You’ll read all those books while I’m working in a studio?” she laughed, already liking the idea. “Don’t forget to write to Lucia and Max. They’ll miss you terribly,” she added sadly.

“They understand. I already told them,” he reassured. “We’re not kids anymore.”

Isabelle slowly paced towards him, thinking carefully. “I guess this means you’re going to make me part of your collection,” she said with a smirk.

Otto looked down at her with a serious and careful expression, his scraggly blond hair providing an incomplete screen for his eyes. Only if you want,” he replied, his hands a bit awkward with their close proximity. “’I don’t believe in hiding beauty from the world’,” he quoted.

“Wise words from the sultan,” Isabelle muttered, “But I have a feeling that you intend to keep me all to yourself.”

Otto flushed heavily when he realized what she meant. She betrayed no embarrassment of her own, simply a frank sincerity that reminded him of the first time he saw her. 

“Would you accept me into your collection?” she asked, her straight-forward disposition causing him to feel ease and confidence in his answer.

“I can’t,” he replied, making her distressed and look away. He gently pulled her face back towards him with long un-gloved fingers. Her large dark-blood eyes reflected him. “You deserve better than just being part of a collection.”

She grinned, turned on her heel with a slight bounce, and they walked side-by-side down the alley, their hands lingering nervously and innocently by their sides.


End file.
